


Haphephobia

by SnarkyReaper



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Haphephobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyReaper/pseuds/SnarkyReaper
Summary: Only Zemira knew about Death’s severe aversion to touch, and why that came to be. It bothers him so severely, that he cannot physically reciprocate his love for her.(Please read Note at beginning for more information)
Relationships: Death (Darksiders)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Haphephobia

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning below (mention of dub-con/rape)  
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> For those who have not read “Darksiders: The Abomination Vault”, there is a chapter where Death and War have to visit Lilith. Death is extremely adamant for War to stay outside, to the point where he almost fights him.
> 
> When Death goes in and speaks with Lilith, what she says to Death HEAVILY implies (to me, at least) that they had some sort of sexual endeavor(s) in the past that Death is extremely ashamed of. And with Lilith’s ability to basically make people bend to her will through means of seduction, that is why he refused to allow War to come in with him, because he did not want him to fall victim to a similar fate. Obviously what that says to me is that she basically, well, raped him. She used her ability to seduce nearly any being she wished to, to take advantage of her SON, mind you. 
> 
> Even in DS2, Death visibly despises the woman, shows outward disgust towards her, and even shoved her hand away when she touches his chest. Obviously there are many more reasons for him to act in such a way towards her, but paired with that chapter from “The Abomination Vault”, it makes you think.
> 
> I could go on about this for ages and write an entire paper about it; essentially the gist of this headcanon of mine is that in the past, Lilith coerced Death into sexual activity that he did not want to partake in (also once again Lilith refers to herself as his mother so that’s an entirely new level of fucked up), and he now suffers from a severe aversion to physical touch, otherwise known as Haphephobia.
> 
> Basically my OC Zemira, and Death softly work to attempt to undo this trauma, 4000 years in the making. Obvious trigger warnings will be applied for slight mentions of said incident between Death and Lilith, so reader’s discretion.

“Do you want to try again?”

  
Zemira quietly spoke to The Horseman, who was silently looking down at nothing from where they both sat in the small living quarters of their shared home. He was upset, not with anyone else, only himself. Death’s mask was in his hands, nervously fidgeting with one of the curves in the bone-like material. Zemira watched him patiently thinking over how to answer her.

“Mmhmm.” Death replied with slight hesitation tangled in his voice.

“Let’s go.”

Zemira urged him into their bedroom, for privacy. He placed the mask down on a small table once in the room as she shuts the door behind them.  
She watched him anxiously pace around; another one of his nervous habits that he unknowingly exhibits. 

“Death, it’s okay. Try to relax. I know this is nerve-wracking for you, but you aren’t going to get hurt.” She moved closer to him, enough to emphasize her words but not make him uncomfortable.

“Let’s sit.”

  
She instructs him. He does so quietly, the only noise he makes is a deep exhale.

“I want you to be comfortable as we do this. Let’s just talk for a bit, and I will start while we talk.” She paused, watching Death across from her, sat as stiff as a board.

“Let’s start with what you _are_ comfortable with.” Zemira outstretched her hand, beckoning for his to follow suit. The Pseudo-Nephilim smiled when she felt his hand in hers, softly resting in her hold. She closed her hand, so their fingers were now interlaced. She was able to feel his tension and apprehension; Death was not showing it, but he was very scared.

She looked into his eyes, seeing how concerned he was.

“Death, this is good! You are doing great!” Zemira’s words were soft and comforting; she was attempting to be as non-threatening and open as possible for him right now.

To Death, being touched was painful; brought back disgusting and unwanted memories from his past, involving the Mad Queen, Lilith. He never likes talking about it, but when Zemira attempted to touch him in any way, he would flinch and recoil away from her.   
She eventually found out why he did this, and now helps Death with overcoming this severe aversion to physical contact.

Because his issues are rooted in trauma, Zemira makes her intended actions very clear to Death, so as to not trigger a panic attack. He was already very on edge.

“I’m going to move closer to you, alright? Look at me as I do this. Acknowledge to yourself that it’s me. No one else.”

Death did look into her eyes, and she felt his grip on her hand soften; a small sign that his anxieties have lowered, for the moment.  
She removed her hand from his grip, and gently scooted closer to him on the bed. Zemira kept a kind and soft composure for his sake, and struck up conversation to help Death take his mind off of his anxiety.

  
“Have you heard from War, Strife, and Fury lately?”

“Not really, no.” His voice was trembling.

“Pity. I’d love to know what they’re up to.”

She outstretched her hand again so he could place his in her own. Death did so carefully; hesitantly. When his hand was in her grip, she brought their hands closer to her, “May I steal a kiss?” She asked softly. That was the first time of the night that she got any semblance of a smile from Death. He replied nervously with a “yes”, and she felt his hand brace in her hold. Zemira brought her lips to the back of his hand and brushed them against his skin; then allowed her free hand to rest atop it.

“You are doing very well. Every little step is part of the progression, and you’ve come a long way.”

Death kept quiet, but acknowledged her words with a nod, and another tiny smile. He stopped to look at her hands, and rubbed his thumb against her skin. This was touch; he was touching her, and she was touching him. This is what it felt like.

He turned their hands over so the back of Zemira’s hand was facing him. To her surprise, he brought her hand to his lips, and copied her action of kissing the back of her hand. She has done this to him numerous times before, as that is the only way she has been able to give him affection. They haven’t been able to have a proper kiss. 

Zemira felt little surges of excitement well up in her chest, and her smile could’ve lit up the room. Her eyes burnt with the forming of tears, as Death had yet to attempt a kiss until just then.

“Thank you - for trying to help me.”

“Of course! I want you to be comfortable around me; I want to be able to touch you, and hold you!” Her tears began to roll down her cheeks. “What happened isn’t your fault, and you deserve to be given proper love; I want to be the one to give you that experience.”  
Zemira let go of his hand again so she could calm down and wipe the tears from her face. 

She then cleared her throat. “I want to try something that we have not done. Put your hand on my cheek,” she pointed to her left cheek, “and I’ll put my hand on yours. Okay?”

  
Death nodded.

  
“You go first. And then I will slowly place my hand on you.”

  
Death again hesitated to move, but eventually gently cupped her cheek with his right hand. His arm was awkwardly stretched out, and she urged him to move in a little closer to lessen the strain on his arm. He did so, not without trying to avoid it at first; but Zemira was able to convince him.

  
“It’s okay,” she saw how moving closer to her had made him get a little anxious again, “You’re safe with me.”

Death now attempted to divert his own attention away from his growing nervousness.

  
“Your skin is very soft.”

“Save for the scar, right?” She quipped. Zemira had a large, plus sign shaped scar on the left side of her face. It ran horizontally from her left ear to the right side of her nose, and vertically from her left eyebrow down to above her top lip.  
She smiled to break the tension, and Death sheepishly smiled back at her, still attempting to mask his nervousness.

“Alright, I’m going to place my hand on your face now. Just look at me.”

Zemira lifted her hand slowly, until her fingers met his gaunt cheek. Death jumped slightly, and made a small startled noise in his throat. She felt him try to recoil back from the feeling, but Death stopped himself.

“Hey hey, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

“I - I know. I’m with you.”

With her hand now holding his face, Zemira gently moved her thumb in a circular motion, taking the time to register the feel of his flesh. He was a little colder than she, and his skin more coarse from eons on the battlefield; but she liked it. He was unique.

Zemira brushed her thumb against the scar that went through his lip, and was able to feel him exhale through his nose shakily. Death was so afraid that he didn’t want to speak. His anxieties treated the touch of her hand as if it were a hot iron cast upon his face. Contact was pain; absolute, sickening _pain_. Death felt his fight or flight response kicking in: his heart began to race, and felt his hands become clammy. He tried to tell himself that this was not like back then, with _her_. Zemira was not going to defile him, use or abuse him in any way. He knows this; but the fear is so deeply rooted in his brain. All he can picture is Lilith when Zemira tries to touch him, or when anyone tries to touch him, for that matter.  
His heartbeat picked up pace again, remembering Lilith, and what she had done. His eyes had left Zemira’s gaze, and he was unable to focus. His hand fell to her shoulder.

“Death, she’s not here. She will not hurt you; no one will.”

  
She had indiscriminately moved closer to him, and when Death felt her breath hit his face, lost his composure.

“ **NO! GET OFF OF ME!** ” He bellowed. Death tore Zemira’s hand away from his face and frantically got off of their bed, nearly tripping in the process. Death had moved to one of the adjacent walls to lean against. His panic caused him to begin gasping for air, and made him weak. His arms now felt heavy, as did his legs. Zemira kept her distance until he calmed down enough, but she tried to get through to him by continuing to talk to him.

“I’m here, It’s Zemira. I am not going to hurt you, Death. You can relax.”

“Zemira, I’m - I -“ Death couldn’t finish his sentence. His voice was shaking, and his mind still unable to focus.

As his fear subsided, a wave of both anger, and embarrassment fell upon him like an oppressive blanket. Things wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for _her_. He wouldn’t have to worry about the absolutely crippling fear of being touched by another; and having it sting like needles to his skin. Death put a hand to his face, covering himself from the shame he felt. His other hand was still propping him up against the wall; Zemira watched him in this position for a few moments, the Horseman’s thumb and index finger shakily clasping the bridge of his nose in a sign of agitation and stress. All he could think about at this point in time, is how Lilith is the root of his suffering. She did this to him, she hurt him in unfathomable ways; she made him afraid of the prospect of love; of being loved in a way that was proper. He doesn’t know what it’s like, and figured he would never know.  
Anger continued to build in him as he stood silently, continuing to regulate his breathing.   
Before Zemira could say or do anything else, Death swiftly pivoted on one foot, quickly reared an arm back, and punched the wall in a burst of blind rage. He roared out with the first punch, cursing the Mad Queen with every violent swing into the sturdy wall.

“ **YOU BITCH! YOU DISGUSTING WHORE!** ” Death’s voice was loud. Zemira swore she could almost feel his vocal chords stinging and aching from the power in his screams. His adrenaline was pumping so hard that he hadn’t realized that his knuckles were bleeding, even as small splotches of his blood marked the wall. He ended up leaning on both hands, resting his head on the surface; his back facing Zemira. Anger was still laced in his tone, but she heard the audible change in his voice, as he began to cry. 

“ **FUCK YOU, YOU HEARTLESS WITCH!** ”

They were the most helpless, gut-wrenching, and unbelievably sorrowful cries she has ever heard. She had gotten off of the bed and ran to him; but she did not put her hands on him. She couldn’t without sending him into another panic-induced spiral. Zemira simply stood close by, watching Death, and making sure he did not do anything to harm himself further as he continued to cry. In this moment she felt as helpless as Death did; she could not comfort him, or hold him in any way. It pained her to have to force herself to _not_ help him.

“That evil bitch! She did th - this to me.”

“I know, Death. I know.” Zemira didn’t know what else to say. Watching him cry and sob like a helpless little boy left her in shock. So she simply allowed Death his space, and let him cry until he couldn’t anymore.


End file.
